


Hogwarts Knows

by Mersheeple



Series: Hearts&Cauldrons Prompts [66]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Imperius, Potions, Ron Weasley Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mersheeple/pseuds/Mersheeple
Summary: When someone is using magic for the wrong reasons, Hogwarts always knows
Series: Hearts&Cauldrons Prompts [66]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805746
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	Hogwarts Knows

**Author's Note:**

> This piece has been a WIP for...a month. It just wouldn't do anything I wanted it to. I'm still not sure if it did what I wanted it to... LOL

He tucked his hair behind his ear, glaring into the cauldron. He clenched his jaw as he counted the stirs, his head pounding and throbbing as he watched the potion change colour. A breath from beside him, a soft sigh on the edge of his consciousness, reminded him that his Apprentice was watching him, waiting for him. He growled, gesturing at her notes, and she hurriedly scribbled down the results of the last five minutes. He glared at the top of her head.

She should never been his apprentice but she had insisted to Minerva that he was the only person she would apprentice under. Minerva had begged and pleaded and then told him that, as he had given up his post as Headmaster, technically she could order him to take on anyone as an Apprentice, including those who had no aptitude for the subject. He had harrumphed and grimaced and growled and spent the first three months of her Apprenticeship complaining regularly to the Scottish Matriarch but had realised that it was probably completely pointless.

He tucked his hair back again, growling and glaring at the swirls of steam rising from the deep blue surface. She sighed softly from beside him and his eyes flicked to hers. He continued to glare at her as she looked at him innocently, her eyes soft and warm. He rolled his eyes and looked back at the cauldron, slowly stirring the dark liquid. He felt her magic wash over him and growled.

“Miss Granger, what are you doing?” His eyes snapped to hers and he moved to tuck his hair behind his ear before finding it was pulled back tightly behind his head, secured with what appeared to be one of the snag free elastics he often found lying around his rooms, or noticed on her wrists. At least, that’s what it felt like.

“You constantly push your hair back, ignoring whatever you have on your hands. It’s no wonder your hair looks so greasy…” Hermione’s eyes snapped wide and he realised that she hadn’t meant to say what she was thinking out loud. He sneered and raised an eyebrow.

“I believe, Miss Granger, that we are done here. You can leave.” Severus scowled back at the potion, knowing it would have to brew for 24 hours now and that she would have to come back the next day. He hated that she would come back, ready with the insults again. He got the feeling she did not necessarily mean to say them but did not seem able to stop herself. Almost all her words, especially when he was brewing, were insults.

She had never been rude to him as a student. She had never been rude to him at all really, until after the Christmas holidays two months ago. She had spent the time in his rooms, or in their lab. He had begun to enjoy spending time with her, found her intelligent and witty and fun to be around. The time was pleasant and often went quicker than he would have liked. She would leave him to have her main meal in the Great Hall before heading back to her own rooms, a little further up the Hallway. She never spent the evenings with him but would take her breakfast in the morning at seven and then, over Christmas, she would be with him by half past, usually spending almost twelve hours with him until she left his chambers at seven in the evening to go for her dinner.

So what, he wondered, had happened between Christmas Eve, when she had shyly given him a brand new cravat in a deep, rich plum, and New Year’s Day when she had returned to the school and called him a ‘greasy git’ and told him to stop sticking his ‘abnormally large nose’ into her business. She had then stormed off back to her chambers and ignored him all day. He had stormed off back to his own rooms and smashed several jars of items that he had yet to replace.

“He’s a right foul git Hermione. I don’t know how you can stand being around him.” Ronald Weasley growled at her in disgust as she wriggled and pulled against her bindings. He leaned forward to pull out her hairs, the new batch of Polyjuice Potion bubbling away behind him. It had been a mistake to try to Imperius her that morning and let her go to him. She shrieked through the gag and he slapped her hard, a blinding shock of pain over her face making her see spots.

It had started at Christmas. She had been at the Burrow, waxing poetic about her work with Severus, her work on potions, her new life at Hogwarts. He had not understood.

“But ‘Mione, we’re supposed to be starting a new life together. Why would you want to work on Potions? It’s not like you are going to have a job once we are married…” Ron had trailed off then, his eyes sparking coldly as she had berated him.

“Of _course_ I want to work. What do you imagine I’d be doing? Raising an army of your children and cooking, learning to knit at the hands of your Mother? Ronald, that’s not me. I’m not even sure I _want_ and army of children. Two would be more than enough for me. If we have any at all.” He had struck her then, splitting her skin and knocking her out. She had woken up in pain twelve hours later and stared at the reflection of herself. A reflection that moved independently. Ronald Weasley, in her skin.

Most of the time, she lived in this partitioned off area of her quarters, tied up and impotent. He fed her scraps like she was a dog, throwing it on the ground every few days, leaving her so hungry that she wept with gratitude when she scraped it off the floor and shovelled it into her mouth. Somehow, he had managed to miscalculate the Polyjuice Potion and he had let her out this morning, casting an Imperius on her to try to control what she did, what she said, what she thought. She had fought, not as strong as Harry but damn it, she had fought. It was how she had managed to tie his hair back for him. Something Ron would never have done.

She watched him drop the hairs into the Potion and saw it change colour, shimmering into a blue-green. Something wasn’t right. She had always been a deep purple-blue. Why had she changed? When had she changed? He frowned slightly and waved his hand over the potion. It began to bubble, frothing and foaming in a way she had never seen before. She shrank back in on herself as the potion exploded, screaming as the hot liquid landed on her hands and legs. It was a small splattering of droplets, nothing more. It was the shock that caused her to scream. Ron had received the brunt of the thick gooey mess to his skin and she watched in horror as he morphed and changed in front of her eyes.

He screamed in pain and she felt the whole castle begin to shudder under her feet. Whatever was happening, she could be sure that Hogwarts had had a hand in it. Or, as the castle was mostly stationary, at least a brick or two in it. He was still, the castle was silent and she curled up into a ball, sobbing and shaking as she passed out, her body exhausted and frail and weak from fighting for so long.  
  
She was late. She was never late. It was one of the few qualities he could admit to admiring. The others, her work ethic, her intelligence, her diligence, her ability to light up a room as soon as she entered it, he kept to himself. It was safer for his nerves, for his mind.

He would not worry about her. The witch could handle herself. She had fought a War. She had looked after him as he healed. Neither was a small feat. He admitted to himself that looking after him was probably the harder task.

It was only twenty minutes anyway. She was only twenty minutes late. He glanced at the potion and frowned. It was ready for the next step. It just needed to be heated to boiling again. Where was she? He glanced at his Tempus charm, floating in the air above the potion. Thirty minutes. This was most unlike her. He growled low in his throat and whirled away, walking out of the laboratory and towards Hermione’s quarters.

He was a very observant man. Perhaps that was why he noticed the strange markings on the floor outside her room. Markings that looked like Old English. He recognised the words, cursing softly as they began to glow, a shiny, glossy black that looked like oil.

**Fore thaem neidfaerae naenig uuiurthit  
Thoncsnotturra, than him tharf sie  
to ymbhycggannae aer his hiniongae  
huaet his gastae godaes aeththa yflaes  
aefter deothdaege doemid uueorthae. **

“Bede’s Death Song” he murmured, remembering his Mam telling him the old language version. He even remembered the translation, a song form he had learned and sung at his Mam’s graveside after his Da had finally told him that she had passed. Without prompting, he began to sing.

“Fore the enforced-walk none comes to be,  
Wise to malice more than he,  
Who must think back and reflect,  
Before he walks along the deck,  
On what he knows, his soul and breath,  
Bad or good, evil or blessed,  
When he walks on hence to judgement day,  
And his soul is’t carried away!”

The door creaked open and he entered the room with no thought for what he might find. It certainly wasn’t the scene he expected. There, in a makeshift cage, was Hermione Granger; filthier and sadder looking than he had seen, even after the war. And outside the cage, looking strangely familiar, was a statuette; screaming in horror at whatever it’s cold blue glass eyes could see. He ran to the cage, destroying it with one swipe of his wand and knelt down, refusing to approach Hermione. She wasn’t moving and he was worried he would hurt her or scare her if he approached too swiftly.

“Se-Se-Severus?” Her voice broke on his name and he nearly wept as she looked at him, her eyes filled with tears and glassy. He noticed a bruise appearing on her face and things began to fall into place. Somehow, the person who had been in his laboratory most of the last two months had not been his Apprentice.

“Miss Granger, we have an experiment that is going awry right now. Let us get you out of here shall we?” He reached out a hand to her and was surprised when she shuffled next to him, placing her arm in his hand and allowing him to help her to stand. She smiled at him slightly and he couldn’t help smiling back.

“Can we leave here Severus? I want to go somewhere I feel safe. Can we go back to the lab?” She smiled up at him and he nodded, lifting her into his arms when she stumbled slightly. He carried her through the halls, barely noticing anyone looking at them. He would keep her safe. He would do for her what he had failed to do for Lily…


End file.
